


nobis

by iwasfollowingyou



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Antwerp, Drabble, M/M, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 22:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou
Summary: a brief night in antwerp





	nobis

They’re in Antwerp when it happens again. The bed is larger than it was when they were kids, but as the mattress grew, so did they, and it feels nearly the same as it did back then — curled up around themselves, spines pressed together near the center, though Boris has taken up more space than he should necessarily be allotted. Theo doesn’t mind (he never does). He almost prefers it this way, laying right up on the edge of the bed, Boris taking up all of the space behind him.

The nightmares have followed him, even here, in their tiny oasis. They shock him awake a half dozen times a night — always with a blast, a rush of smoke, a gunshot, a spatter of blood. Men falling to the floor in front of him, his mother’s scream in the background. The parking garage, if Boris had been a split second too slow, bleeding out on the cold concrete, red covering Theo’s hands. Always death. His mother, Andy, Mrs. Barbour, Boris. Death follows him wherever he goes, the stench of it worked deep into the fabric of his coat, worked into his skin even when he scratches and digs at it, dragging red lines down his arms and across his chest, dried blood caked underneath his fingernails. Death, until he awakes with a gasp and a stuttered heartbeat, scrambling around and gripping at the sheets around him, searching for anything to give him a foundation, to draw him back down to earth.

Confusion and fear and anger, until there’s a cold hand on his arm, a whisper through the darkness: _Shh, Potter. Shh. Is only me._

Boris. Boris’ fingers wrapped around his bicep. Boris’ hand sliding across his chest, gently pulling him back down onto the mattress, guiding Theo onto his side and pulling him in, muttering under his breath as he does, half asleep. Calming rhythm of his breath, soft and constant, slightly quicker than it had been before Theo had yanked him back into consciousness. Comforting smell wrapping itself around Theo and invading his senses — faint stench of vodka, a hint of weed, and Theo can almost imagine that they’re back in Vegas and nothing has changed. Boris’ touch gentle on his skin, running fingertips over the places Theo has ripped at himself.

It happens again, just as it did when they were kids: Boris’ arms tightly around him, holding him in reality, clutching at each other like castaways. Soft mumbling falling from Boris’ lips, a garble of English and Russian and Swedish, low noises in his throat that sound more like a purr than words.

He’s passed Boris by at least half a foot now, but the way Boris is holding him, he has never felt so small. His head fits so perfectly against the crook of Boris’ neck, his nose tucked against the dip of his collarbone where it’s peeking out under his shirt. His hands grip at the fabric like it’s the only thing tethering him to a sinking ship.

_Sleep, Potter,_ Boris whispers, his lips pressed against Theo’s forehead as he does. _You are safe. Is only us._

Boris holding onto him, again. His breath warm on Theo’s skin, hands gentle on his back but pulling him in as if he’s worried that Theo is going to drift away. Theo lets himself press a light kiss where Boris’ neck meets his shoulder, and Boris lets out a quiet, content sigh. Theo’s eyes close again, his heartbeat slowing back down to a normal pace, and there’s no more blood or gunshots or death. There’s only Boris, and the soft patter of rain against the window, and the draft that crosses the bedroom, chasing Theo farther into Boris’ chest. There’s a brief moment when Boris removes his hand from Theo’s back, and Theo almost makes a sound, but Boris only pulls the sheet up higher around Theo’s shoulders before he’s touching Theo’s bare skin again, hand settling back where Boris has carved out a place for it, where it feels just as much a part of Theo as his own hands, which have slipped underneath Boris’ shirt to touch him closer.

There’s one more mumble, something unintelligible followed by another _Potter_, before Boris’ breath steadies out, and Theo can tell that he’s fallen back asleep, the same way he could tell when they were fourteen years old and Boris would fake sleep for fifteen minutes before he actually passed out, just so that Theo would shut up.

Theo relaxes in Boris’ arms, letting the slow up and down of Boris’ chest lull him back into a sense of comfort, but he doesn’t let himself fall asleep again — not because he’s afraid of what he’ll see in his dreams, but because he doesn't want to drift off and lose the grip on reality that Boris provides him. So he lies awake and listens to Boris breathe and feels Boris twitching against him, feeling safer now in their sanctuary than he has felt in fourteen years.

**Author's Note:**

> my first goldfinch fic!! i saw the movie yesterday and it's ruined me forever. theo and boris' relationship is so beautiful and they each deserve so much love that they've never gotten and i'm so happy they can give it to each other


End file.
